


carmine (the colour of blood in snow)

by nettlestingsoup



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: American Gothic - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chan is sort of a werewolf, Inspired by Twilight, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Panicked Gay, M/M, Tiny cameo from the other skz members, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlestingsoup/pseuds/nettlestingsoup
Summary: Minho has never believed in monsters. Even as a child, he was never afraid of them, trusting to his parents to keep him safe from anything that might have lurked under his bed.But now, there's something in the woods to the north of town, howling like the wind and like a wolf, and Minho starts to think that maybe he was wrong. That monsters are real after all, and that they walk as men with deep, dark eyes and voices as soft as snowfall.But the monster he knows isn't the only one of its kind out there; and as something else comes ever closer to the town, leaving bloodstains in the snow, Minho starts to fear not only for himself, but for the monster who waits for him beneath the shadows of the trees.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 105
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Back in November, I re-watched the Twilight saga, and decided that as much as I loved the vibe, there were... things to be improved upon in terms of how healthy the relationship between the main characters actually is.
> 
> So, I wrote carmine, inspired by the pine-trees-and-rain vibe of Forks, Washington, and the way the first Twilight film makes me feel. I really love writing Chan like this, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Updates approximately daily (there are a few days here and there where I might not be able to update, but I'll do my best not to leave it more than two days).
> 
> Enjoy <3

The howling starts in September.

It rolls down from the pine forests on the foothills of the mountains like an autumn sunset, all wistful gold and dark drawing in. Night after night, just as the day fades, then on into the small hours of the morning. Crying to the moon. No one knows what’s making the sound. 

"No history of wolves in those hills," they say in the dim light of bars and public houses. "Too warm for them here."

"You think they might have been chased down from the north?"

"Chased by what?"

"I don’t know, just… something. Something bigger than a wolf."

"Trust me. It ain’t wolves."

A disgruntled pause. The sound of glass tankards being cleaned, wood creaking.

"If it ain’t wolves, what is it?"

The silence grows cold, and fearful. The lights seem dimmer.

The first speaker shifts in his chair, shadows on his face stretching down into his beard, hollowing his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is gruffer; the voice of a man too weighed down by decades of fear to admit that he’s afraid. " It ain’t wolves."

* * *

Minho doesn’t really pay attention to the sound until October. He’s noticed it, of course. It’s kept him awake once or twice, when the voice from the hills is just too sad and too alone for him to sleep through. But he forgets about it by the time he wakes, any dreams of wolves and lonely songs slipping away.   
But in October, the dares start.

"Go on. I dare you. An hour, after sunset, up in the hills."

"A whole hour? You’ve got to be kidding."

"What, you scared?"

"No!"

"An hour, then."

"Fine."

Minho listens to the whole exchange. Sits on the bench and watches the high-schooler, barely sixteen, run off towards the hills, his friends in tow. They’ll part ways at the border of the forest, probably. Where the road runs out.

He should have tried to stop them, he thinks. But they wouldn’t have listened. What foolish sixteen year old listens to someone barely four years their senior? What foolish sixteen year old listens to  _ anyone _ ?

So Minho watches them go, hears their calls and laughter like a pack of hyenas echoing in the dusk from four streets away. Sound carries better in the dark. He knows he heard that somewhere.

The next day, the rumour has already spread through the whole town. Carter went up into the hills, followed that strange, sad howl up among the pines. He came back after ten minutes, rather than the full hour. He was screaming, the rumours said, raving about a man that wasn’t a man, a man who moved like  _ something else _ , with eyes so dark they made the shadows shine. His friend hadn’t known what to do. Had thought he was joking until he saw the glint of terror in Carter’s eyes. And then he had run home, leaving Carter screaming in the street, bathed in the spotlights of front-room windows casting a glow over the street as the townspeople awoke.

No one believed him.

Except maybe Minho.

He had known that the howling hadn’t sounded like a wolf. It was too sad, too  _ achingly  _ sad to be anything but a man.

And as if he needs to confirm his suspicions, Minho sits awake at night and listens. Wonders why no one ever howls back. Is he the only one of his kind, this man who isn’t a man? Is he alone?

The dares continue.

No one besides Carter ever sees the barest trace of a beast among the blue-green shadows of the woods.

* * *

In November, when the nights are heavy with mist, a stag is found torn to pieces at the edge of the woods. The girl who finds it screams and screams and screams like Carter did, the sound disturbing multitudes of iridescent flies that had settled over the skin and guts and gore.

"What the hell could do something like this?"

"Can’t be a wild animal. Would have eaten it."

"Yeah, this thing left a hell of a mess behind."

"Then what did it? Some kinda psycho up in those hills? You think _he’s_ the one howling?"

"Doubt it. Trees are dense, but nothing else grows. Nowhere to hide, or build a shelter."

"Yeah. Been ‘round those woods plenty and never seen a soul."

A curfew is placed over the entire town. Home by sundown. Never out before sunrise. A whole population, operating only within the scant hours of daylight.  As winter draws in, the town shuts down. The nights grow longer, and the constant howling is almost lost to the wind as the storms draw in. Almost. Minho still thinks he can hear it.

"What do you think it is?" he asks his father, sitting beside him on the sofa, their cat, Kimchi, curled up between them. "The howling."

"I don’t know," his father admits. "But I think the world houses stranger things than those men in the bars with their guns are ready to admit."

"Do you think Carter was right?"

"I think he was too afraid to lie," his father says after a moment. "And too stupid. A boy like Carter doesn’t have a story like that rattling around in his skull."

Minho thinks about that. He doesn’t know Carter. Was only in the same school as him for a year. But it had been a strange story, too fanciful perhaps, when he could simply have said a wolf, or any other manner of creature.

The howling continues under the wind, endlessly sad, and Minho keeps on thinking.

* * *

It isn’t until December that Minho finally ventures into the woods. He’s been sent out with a team of hunters after a few more deer were discovered down by the road. There are cops, and old men with guns, and Minho doesn’t know why he’s here. But he had been pulled along and given a gun, like a great many other young men of the town, and marched off into the woods.

"You know how to use that thing, kid?" An old man asks him. Minho thinks he’s seen him around town before.

"No," he admits. "Well, yes. I’ve just never done it before."

"Well, now’s the time to learn. If we find anything out here."

"Do you think we will?" Minho asks.

"Don’t know. Kinda hope not."

He disappears then, into between the pillars of the pines, leaving the barest impression on the layers of dried needles, and Minho finds himself alone. He keeps heading onwards, knowing someone is, in truth, close by; but the forest distorts things, spreads out spaces and fills them with trees and scatters of needles and shadows in gradients of cyan.

And before long, the voices of the other hunters fade into nothing more than the whispers of squirrels running through the trees above Minho’s head.

Minho doesn’t start to panic for another ten minutes. It’s when he loses the sound of birdsong, when the trees draw in just a little too close, that it sets in. The daylight is lost down here, and the sound of his footfalls echo strangely, and he can almost believe, if he lets himself, that night has fallen around him.  Unsure of how to continue, he keeps walking.

Behind him, he hears another set of footsteps.  He turns, gun raised.

"Woah! Can you, uh, put that down?" It’s a man, a little shorter than him, hair the colour of ash-wood falling into his eyes a little. His hands are raised in surrender, gently sloping eyes wide. Minho lowers his gun.

"Sorry," he says. "Are you part of the hunt?"

"Hunt?"

"For the thing in the woods that keeps howling. The thing that killed those deer."

"Oh," the man says. "Doesn’t seem worth hunting it for."

"Nah," Minho agrees. "I think I’ll leave it well alone if I see it. It doesn’t deserve to get shot."

"What are you doing hunting it then?" The stranger seems genuinely curious, eyes bright with it.

Minho shrugs. "Was kind of told I had to. The whole town is riled up by this thing. Scared of it."

"You’re not scared?"

"No. I think it sounds sad." He doesn’t tell him he thinks it walks as a man. Knows he’ll sound insane.

The stranger stares at him, gaze heavy. It reminds Minho oddly of the weight of a gathering dusk, the way everything fades to grey beneath it.

"I think maybe you’re right," the stranger says.

Before Minho can speak again, there’s a rustling in the pine needles behind him. He turns to see another of the young men on the hunt behind him, gun raised. Ben, Minho thinks his name is.

"Hey, Min. Thought we lost you. You good?" Minho turns. Looks around for the stranger.

But he’s gone.

"Yeah," he says. "I’m good."

The hunt uncovers nothing. But Minho lies awake and thinks about the stranger in the woods with the dark, dark eyes, soft and heavy and somnolent as grave dirt.

And when the howling starts that night, Minho thinks it sounds sadder than ever before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... thank you for leaving comments and kudos on the first chapter! It means a lot <3

Minho goes back into the woods alone. He knows it’s a bad idea. But there’s something out there, he knows there is, and his conversation with the stranger just solidified some vague idea in him that it needs his help.

It’s strange, how quickly the darkness swallows him up once he’s among the trees. He starts to question his decision a little. It wouldn’t hurt to turn back now. No one would see him. No one would know.

But he has to try.

It’s cold under the shadows of the trees. Frost is settling in earnest now, and Minho turns to see his footprints against the white. At least he has a trail back. _It’ll all melt,_ some cruel little voice tells him. _You won’t be found if something happens._

Minho tries not to think about that. Tries not to think about the fact that he might be wrong. That the creature - the man, the beast - out here might be willing to take down something bigger than a deer.

It hadn’t even eaten it, he remembers. Just torn it open and left it to bleed.

Something shifts behind him in the trees. He turns, breath coming heavier than before, catching in his throat.

There’s nothing there. Only the blue-green-black of pine shadows. A forest painted in verdigris.

"You again." Minho whirls back around to see the stranger from before, leaning against a tree. Something about it seems staged. A motion that should be casual, full of tension in every line of it. Like the stranger is waiting for something.

He smiles, dimples forming in his cheeks, and the feeling fades.

"Yeah," Minho says. "Me again."

"Still looking for that thing?"

"Yeah," he admits sheepishly. "I think it needs help. It sounds so sad, I just… I want to find it."

"Want some help?" the stranger offers. "These woods are safer when you’re not alone."

 _Then why are you out here by yourself?_ Minho thinks about asking. He doesn’t.

"Sure," he says instead. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one."

The stranger smiles, and holds out a hand. "I’m Chan," he says.

"Minho." Chan’s grip is strong, and yet again Minho finds himself drawn in by those eyes. Even gentled by a smile, the intensity of the dark doesn’t fade. Minho can’t tell if his pupils are simply swallowing his irises whole.

They walk through the forest together until dusk starts to fall. Minho asks Chan questions, none of which he really answers.

"Where do you live?"

"Not down in the town."

"What do you do for a living?"

"This and that. Forest work."

"Any family?"

"Not these days."

Minho feels guilty for that last one. Chan had seemed so very saddened by it, words weighed down by thousands of paper-thin layers of grief.

They find nothing of the creature.

"I’ll have to come back when it’s light again," Minho tells Chan. "My parents will worry if I’m not home by the curfew."

"Be safe," Chan tells him softly. It seems too tender a tone for their second meeting, but Minho can’t find it in him to dislike it. He thinks that maybe tenderness might not be unusual for Chan.

“I will.”

He goes home. Curls up by the fire even once his parents have gone to bed. Thinks about men and beasts and dark eyes.

And when the howling starts, it makes his chest ache more than ever before.

* * *

Another stag is found dead. Its head is found a few streets away from the body.

The hunts double in response. Minho refuses to take part. His father smiles when he tells him that. It’s rare to see his father smile these days. There have been too many more deaths for anyone to smile much.

"This ain’t a beast," Minho hears the hunters saying. "No beast kills things just to leave ‘em."

"We’ve talked this over before. It ain’t a man out in those woods."

"What else can it be?"

"Maybe there’s somethin’ in what Carter said."

"Carter?"

"Geoff’s boy. Went up in the woods. Talked some nonsense about a man who wasn’t human."

"You really believe that crap?"

"What else is it gonna be?"

The second hunter doesn’t have an answer to that. They head out again the next day.

Minho hopes that Chan is safe. There are too many twitching trigger fingers in those woods, and he’s far too silent and quick to be taken for a man if his shadow were seen.

Something about that thought catches somewhere in Minho’s mind.

He wouldn’t think Chan human, if he saw him in the shadows.

And hadn’t Carter spoken of dark eyes, too dark to be real? Darker than the night around him?

Chan’s eyes, Minho thinks. So black they burned.

It can’t be.

It can’t.

* * *

Minho returns to the forest.

"Chan!" he calls into the pines. "Chan, are you there?"

No reply. But he’s being watched, he thinks. Can feel eyes heavy on his back, pinning him into the freshly fallen snow. He gets a sudden image, bright and bold enough to be a premonition, of his own corpse between the trees. The colour leaching slowly out of his skin and into the frost as wine might bloom across a tablecloth. He doesn’t know the name, he thinks, of the colour of blood in snow.

The moment passes. The sense of being watched does not.

"Chan!" Minho is afraid, he realises. He doesn’t like being out here alone.

When Chan finally appears, it’s with a violence that sends the crows fleeing from their roosts. It’s all Minho can focus on, for a moment. The sound of wingbeats and the cries of the birds. It distracts, momentarily, from the fact that he can’t breathe. That Chan appeared from the shadows running like a man possessed, pushed Minho hard enough to send him flying against a tree.

Lying in the snow, bark catching on his jacket, Minho watches Chan whirl to face the woods.

"Stay away," he says to the empty, frost-bitten air, voice almost a growl. "Stay _away_ from him."

There’s no reply. The only sound is Minho, gasping helplessly for air as his chest seizes. The cold bites at his throat as he tries to drag in a breath, the clarity of it making him dizzy. In the distance, something shifts in the trees. Chan twitches towards it, the minuscule movement as carefully controlled as a dancer’s.

"Stay away," he says again. His voice is deeper this time, something haunting in the tone of it, and Minho sees another flash of his own body, lying cold in the snow. Is this where he dies? A clearing in the woods with a man - a _thing_ \- he’s only just beginning to understand?

Movement in the trees again. Chan stands upright - Minho had barely realised he’d lowered into a crouch, defensive and predatory - and turns to him. Kneels in the snow beside him, tilts him forwards and rubs his aching back in circles until he can breathe again.

"I’m sorry," he says on repeat. "I’m sorry, Minho, I didn’t mean to."

Minho can’t speak. Doesn’t know what he’d say in response.

"You should go home," Chan says quietly. "I’ll walk you to the edge of the forest."

He keeps his word, only leaving Minho once the glow of streetlights stains the snow to gold dust. They come on so early now, the townsfolk clinging to any sense of safety found in illumination.

"You should stay out of the woods, Minho," Chan tells him. "Please."

"I can’t," Minho replies. It’s the first he’s spoken. "It’s you, isn’t it? The beast."

"No. Yes. I’m not the one who killed the deer."

"But you’re not human."

"I’m not."

"I’ll be back, then," Minho insists. "I want to understand, Chan."

Chan sighs heavily. He looks genuinely distressed, and Minho feels a little guilty. "Then don’t come in by yourself. Wait for me here. I’ll know."

"Fine," Minho agrees. "I’ll wait for you here."

Chan disappears then, slipping into the trees without another word, leaving Minho alone in the early evening. He walks home. Wonders who Chan had been calling out to.

The howling starts at midnight. It makes sense now. Why it’s so painfully, achingly sad.

_Any family?_

_Not these days._

Thousands of paper-thin layers of grief, forming a requiem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an exposition chapter!

Minho waits for the Chan the next morning. The bruise on his back, when he’d gotten dressed, was worse than he’d thought. It’s dark, mottled blue and red, and stings to the touch. Chan had done that. He hadn’t intended to, Minho thinks. He had just been attempting to protect him.

It hits him that he doesn’t know what Chan was protecting him from.

Is there another like him, Minho wonders? Chan had told him that he hadn’t killed the deer. But something had. And Chan knew what.

It must be, Minho thinks. Something like Chan.

Whatever Chan is.

* * *

Chan meets him on the edge of the forest when the shadows of dawn are all but faded. He slips out from between the trees, standing at Minho’s side as though he’d been there all along.

"Good morning," he says softly, and Minho can’t help but jolt away.  _ Danger _ , his mind is telling him.  _ Predator _ . But the guilt that fills Chan’s eyes is enough to reassure him. Chan hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Chan still doesn’t want to hurt him.

"Good morning," he replies. Chan offers him a tentative smile.

"Follow me? I don’t really want to be seen."

"Of course," Minho says.

The forest doesn’t feel quite so strange with Chan beside him. There’s still something; still the feeling of eyes on his back. But he feels safe with Chan, despite everything.

"So," he says after they’ve been walking for a while. "Yesterday."   


"I’m sorry for that," Chan says. "Were you hurt?"

"Just a bruise," Minho tells him. It’s not entirely a lie.

"I really didn’t- It’s not that I didn’t mean to do it, I needed to keep you safe, but- I didn’t want to hurt you." He looks guilty again. Soaked in it. As though it’s weighing him down.  _ There’s more to that guilt than me,  _ Minho thinks.

"What were you keeping me safe from?" Minho asks.

Chan sighs. "There’s someone following me. They have been for a while."

"Someone the same as you?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean? To be like you?"

Chan is silent for a moment. "I don’t know how to explain it," he says eventually. "I’ve not spent enough time around humans to know all the ways we’re different. I’m stronger than you, I think. Less… clumsy. I think we eat differently, but eating human food doesn’t bother me. Have you noticed anything else?"

"You feel different," Minho says after a moment. "You feel… I don’t know. You put me on edge a little."

"I scare you?"

"Yes. No. You make me feel like fucking  _ Bella Swan _ or something."

"Who?" Chan asks, and  Minho can’t help laughing slightly at his obvious bewilderment.

"It doesn’t matter," he says kindly. "Is there a name for you? For your species?"

"People who know about us call us Lupines. Not many humans think we exist."

"You’ve talked to the ones who know you exist, then?"

"Not exactly," Chan says softly. "I’ve heard them call us that." He doesn’t say anything more for a moment, and the snow-silence fills Minho’s ears. "They hunt us," Chan says eventually. "They come for our dens. Wait until we’re scared, or angry, and we look less human. And then they shoot us. Our families. Our loved ones. Our pack."

Minho doesn’t have words for the depth of the pain in Chan’s voice. "Is that why you’re alone?" he asks quietly.

"Yes and no," Chan replies. He doesn’t say anything more.

"But it’s not a hunter here?" Minho asks. "It’s- it's one of you?"

"Pack," Chan says, almost in a whisper. "She was in my pack."

"Then why would she-?"

"I don’t want to talk about it," Chan interrupts. There’s something sharp in his tone, bright and aching as ice, and Minho flinches from it. "I’ll keep you safe, Minho," he says more softly. "I promise."

Minho finds he believes him.

They talk for barely an hour more; Chan seems on edge today, sticking close to Minho’s side, jumping at every slight sound, and he seems almost reluctant to let Minho leave. But Minho aches; the bruises from yesterday are blooming in earnest, and every movement seems to sting. So they part ways at the edge of the forest as before, Chan’s eyes heavy on Minho’s back until the forest fades away behind him.

* * *

"Minho?" his father calls when he comes back home. "Where have you been?"

Minho panics. He doesn’t have a lie ready. Hasn’t even considered that his parents might question his whereabouts.

His father sighs. "You know what, it doesn’t matter. I trust you not to do stupid things. Keep your teenage secrets."

"I’m not a teenager anymore, dad."

"You’re acting like one," he responds over his newspaper. Minho almost laughs. He heads for the stairs, his mother ambushing him as she comes out of the bathroom.

"Whatever you’re doing, use protection," she says casually, and Minho almost chokes on air. He feels himself turn red, and she laughs before her expression turns serious. "Just stay safe, sweetheart. Your father’s right, we trust you, but… these are dangerous times."

"I will," Minho promises. Guilt needles at his gut. He doesn’t think his parents would approve of his trips to the woods to meet a man Minho sort of wants to describe as a werewolf. Especially not after Chan slammed him back against a tree.

The bruise on his back stings when he carefully applies some of the salve he stopped to buy on his way home. It’s an uncomfortable process, and he wishes he had someone else to do it for him.

His mind flashes to Chan. He’ll do it, if Minho asks. Perhaps he should take the salve to the woods tomorrow, when he goes back.

He thinks of Chan’s hands, gentle on his skin, and feels his face heat at the idea of someone so strange and so kind touching him.  His mother’s comment comes back to him unbidden, and Minho feels the urge to scream into a pillow.

He’ll take a nap, he decides as he splashes cold water over his face to take the flush from it. Sleep off the strangeness of the morning, and start again in the afternoon.

* * *

When he heads back downstairs, his parents’ faces are grim.

"Did something happen?" he asks softly.

"A mountain lion," his father says. "Just left hanging from a tree."

Minho’s blood goes cold. "It’s never killed a predator before," he says.

"No," his mother agrees. "It hasn’t."

"And in the middle of the day?"

His father shakes his head. "It’s a few days old. Half rotted. They went on another of their stupid hunts and just found it now."

Minho doesn’t know what to say. He wants to leave, run out into the woods and find Chan, warn him of the hunters and their guns, make sure he’s safe. Ask him more questions. Minho needs answers, now. Needs to know why a member of Chan’s old pack is terrorising this town, sending warning after warning in the form of violence.

"Minho? Did you hear me?" his mother asks.

"Sorry," he says vaguely. "I zoned out."

"I asked if you’d go find Kimchi and bring her in. I don’t like the thought of what that thing could do to a poor little cat. We’re keeping her indoors."

"Good idea," Minho agrees.

He heads out, still thinking of Chan as he calls for the cat, rattling a bowl of dry food. Would the other Lupine hurt a pet cat? It’s only been bigger animals so far, things big enough for anyone to feel threatened by something that could take them down.

Worry still sits heavy in his chest until Kimchi emerges from the bushes, a bluebird in her mouth. Minho lets out a sigh of relief.

"Got your own food, huh?" he asks. "Or were you just playing with it?"

She drops the bird at his feet, limp and cold. Red stains the soft brown of its breast, and Minho is hit again with the strange image of his own body in the snow, red blooming from his chest.  Kimchi rubs around his ankles, purring.

"Thanks," he manages to say. His voice shakes. "Come on. Inside."

He leaves the bluebird on the path, trying not to think of the rot that will set in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of an introduction to our villain, and the precursor to a nice soft chapter five <3

The next day, leaning back against a tree as Chan climbs it, Minho asks him about the mountain lion.

"Would you eat something like that?" he wonders aloud. Chan, sitting high on a branch, rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I have," he admits. "Not a whole one. We share. We wouldn’t just leave it to rot like that, that’s just… a waste."

Minho takes a moment to process that. Chan has eaten mountain lion.

"Did you cook it?"

"...no."

"That’s so unbelievably gross."

Chan drops down beside him, snow raining down from the branch as it shakes in his absence. "How is it any different from sushi?"

"Sushi is prepared. It’s fancy. It’s not like we just take bites out of fish with the skin on."

Chan snorts. "I never said we ate the skin. Fur gets stuck in your teeth."

Minho is silent for a moment. He’s not sure how to ask this. "You’ve eaten with her, then? The one who’s doing this. If she was in your pack."

"Yes," Chan says quietly. "I’ve eaten with her."

"Why is she doing this, Chan?" Minho asks. "I need to know. Please."

Chan sighs, breath billowing out into the cold air. For a long moment, Minho thinks that he won’t reply. "I told you that we were hunted," he says eventually.

"You did."

"Some members of my pack… would fight back. They’d kill the hunters. Bury the bodies. Everyone thought they just went missing. Most people who hunt us are deemed insane anyway." He looks out into the trees, avoiding Minho’s eyes. "I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to kill them. I’d scare them, injure them if I had to. But never seriously. I didn’t want them to die."

"What happened?" Minho asks softly.

"One of the ones I’d left alive… he found our den. Most of us were out, but there was one, alone in the den. He cornered her. Tortured her until she shifted into something less human. And he took her head." He closes his eyes as though trying to block out the memory. "He left her body there. There was so much  _ blood _ , Minho, she-" he exhales. "And it was my fault. If I’d killed him, if I hadn’t been so fucking high and mighty about it- she’d be alive, Minho. She’d have been safe in her own den. And her mate wouldn’t be hunting me."

"The one killing animals."

"She wants me to know she’s here. She wants me to suffer. Never be safe. Never be able to settle."

"Will she give up?"

"I don’t think so," Chan says. "She was always single-minded about things she wanted. If she wants revenge, she’ll get it."

Minho feels his chest tighten. He doesn’t want Chan to get hurt. Gentle, sweet Chan. He’d only wanted peace. To not have to hurt anyone.  "What about your pack? Will they not help you?"

Chan shakes his head. "I don’t know. I left before they could speak to me. I didn’t- I didn’t deserve to be among them, Minho. I really didn’t."

Minho doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to comfort a man who blames himself for the death of a member of his family. Who’s hunted and guilty and afraid.

"I’m sorry," he says, reaching for Chan’s hand. "I’m so sorry."

And Chan just smiles sadly, eyes dark as earth.

Dark as sorrow.

* * *

The call comes later that evening. Minho watches his mother’s face go pale as she listens, occasionally letting out understanding hums to prove she’s still listening. After an extended goodbye, she hangs up.

"It’s your aunt," she says quietly. "She’s ill. Her wife wants us to come and visit."

"Are you going to go?" Minho asks.

She sighs, sitting down heavily on the sofa next to him. "Probably. I think it would be safer for us to be out of town right now."

"I’d rather stay," Minho says without thinking. "For Kimchi. We can’t just leave her here, and you know she hates cars."  _ For Chan _ , he thinks.  _ I don’t want to leave him. Not when things are just starting to make sense _ .

"Sweetheart," his mother murmurs. "It’s not safe here. You know it’s not."

"I’ll be fine," Minho pleads. "You and dad can go, and I’ll call you every day, and you know I won’t go out past the curfew. I’ll be safe."  _ He’ll keep me safe. _

"Ok," his mother agrees after a moment, eyes searching his. "You know we trust you, Minho. You’ve always been sensible. You’ve always been good. We  _ trust _ you." She sighs. "But we know there’s something you’re not telling us."

"It’s nothing bad," Minho says quickly, and she strokes his hair.

"I know, sweetheart. I do. Like I said, we trust you. But you… you can tell us. When you’re ready. You can stay here while we visit your aunt. Look after Kimchi. You’re right, she does hate cars. She’d scream the whole journey."

"Yeah," Minho agrees. "She would."

"I’ll let your aunts know we’re coming," his mother says with a smile. She kisses his forehead before she leaves.

Tell us when you’re ready, she had said.

Minho wonders if he ever will.

* * *

Chan, as it turns out, has been living far further up into the hills than the hunts have ever gone, almost over the peak. He shows Minho when they meet at the edge of the woods once his parents are long gone, helping him up the steeper slopes, guiding him carefully over snowdrifts. There’s a hut up there, among the fading pines, where he’s laid a fire and left blankets on the wooden bench that serves as a bed.

"It doesn’t exactly seem comfortable," Minho points out.

Chan shrugs. "It works. I don’t sleep much anyway." Minho doesn’t ask why.

"You know," he says. "My parents have gone away for a few days. You could stay at mine. Be somewhere a little warmer, with some proper food."

The expression that flits across Chan’s eyes is almost hungry. But when he speaks, his words are careful, and delicate. "I wouldn’t want to impose," he says.

"You wouldn’t be. I invited you. It’s kind of lonely on my own anyway," Minho tells him.

"...could I really stay?"

"Of course."

"Your parents won’t come back?"

"They told me they’d text me if they’re coming back early. We’ll have a few hours' warning to smuggle you out if we need to."

Chan visibly relaxes. "Ok. Do you… do you mean tonight?"

Minho’s heart aches for him. How lonely has he been? He’s used to the concept of a pack, Minho remembers. Of being surrounded by familiar faces, never being alone. And now he’s so tentative, so hesitant to take a hand reached out to him. "Tonight," he confirms. "And for as long as you want until my parents are back."

Chan  _ beams _ . Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so happy. He can’t help but smile with him.

"Right now?" Chan asks hopefully. Minho laughs.

"Yes, right now. Come on."

Chan all but bounces down the hills, swinging around the tree trunks and darting quickly back to Minho’s side as though he’s remembered he’s supposed to be protecting him. He walks close when they’re side by side, their shoulders bumping sometimes, and Minho tries not to admit how much he likes having Chan beside him. Chan has admitted to him that he’s not even human. And yet, Minho’s response to him is the exact opposite; so very human in its delicacy, its butterflies and awkward moments of forgetting to tear his eyes away.

"You can’t run around like that through the streets," Minho tells him, laughing, as he hurdles a fallen log. "I’ll have to sneak you in. People won’t respond well to seeing a stranger around at the moment."

Chan’s face falls. "The deer. The mountain lion," he says quietly. Minho doesn’t reply. "I swear I’m telling you the truth about my pack," he continues. "I swear it’s not me. I wouldn’t- to kill something and waste it. That’s not- I wouldn’t do that."

"I know," Minho tells him. It doesn’t feel odd to acknowledge that Chan would kill a deer, but not waste it, and Minho wonders when his daily life became so strange. He doesn’t mind, he thinks as Chan’s knuckles brush his, but he wonders when men who walk like wolves became something as common as the sound of engines.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just soft MinChan with a tiny bit of minor angst (the major angst is creeping up on you) and Minho being a very panicked gay <3

Chan seems somehow out of place in Minho’s living room. It’s something about the width of his shoulders, maybe, or his posture; even here, he looks ready to move, thousands of seconds of motion contained within a stationary form. A coiled spring. Minho wishes he could just watch him for a while.

But Chan starts wandering from room to room, visibly sniffing the air, and Minho can’t help but laugh as he follows him. Kimchi follows at a safe distance, hissing intermittently.

"What are you  _ doing?" _ he asks.

"It smells like you in here," Chan replies, and then stops in his tracks as though he’s just realised that isn’t quite a normal response. "Sorry. I just… like to get familiar with a place."

"By smelling it?"

Chan shrugs, sheepish smile bringing out his dimples. "Like I said," he mumbles. "It smells like you."

He looks away, dark eyes still creased in a smile, and Minho’s heart flutters.

* * *

The meal Minho makes for them is simple, and he spends most of the time pushing Chan away as he peers over Minho’s shoulder to smell whatever he’s just added.

"It’s like having a dog," he scolds as Chan appears in his peripheral vision again, and Chan laughs before sticking out his tongue to pretend to lick Minho’s cheek. "Oh my god, that's  _ gross _ , you can’t lick me! Shoo! Go sit down!"

Chan laughs as he retreats, sitting down at the table and watching Minho with an expression Minho can’t quite decipher. It’s fond, he decides, along with something else. The intensity Chan always has in those shadow-black eyes. He doesn’t know how the two match up. The gentleness of a spring and all the force of a waterfall.

Chan is fascinated by the concept of the television.

"I know it exists," he clarifies, "but I’ve only seen one once before. And that was in the window of a store."

"You don’t interact with people very often, then?" Minho asks.

Chan shakes his head. "No," he says softly. Glances at Minho, curled up against his side. "Not like this." Minho makes to shift away, suddenly embarrassed, but Chan loops an arm over his shoulders and draws him a little closer. "Can we watch one more? I want to hear more about space."

"Sure," Minho agrees. "One more. And then we should sleep."

They end up watching three more episodes of the documentary Minho had chosen. Chan yawns, finally releasing Minho as he stretches. His shirt rides up a little as he lifts his arms, and Minho does his best not to let his eyes linger on the strip of pale skin there.

"I’ll show you where my room is," he says quickly. "I guess you could probably just smell your way there."

"Are you going to stop teasing me about that?"

"No."

"Fair enough." He pauses. "Upstairs on the left."

"Fuck  _ off _ ."

"I’m right?" Chan looks delighted, and Minho can’t stop himself from smiling.

"Come on you  _ mutt _ ," he says, and Chan acts as though Minho has insulted every single ancestor he can name.

Minho shows Chan the way to his room; to the bathroom, how to use the shower. Chan’s face falls when he makes for the stairs.

"You’re going?"

Minho hesitates. "I was going to sleep on the sofa," he admits. "We don’t have a spare room but I thought it wouldn’t be fair to make you sleep on the sofa when you’re here to be comfortable."

"But…" Chan looks a little lost. "You can just sleep here too," he says weakly.

It hits Minho then, in the way Chan hunches his shoulders and makes himself small. Pack. He’d realised it earlier, but this is still part of it. It’s why Chan barely let go of him all evening, took the time to familiarise himself with the scent of the house. Why he doesn’t want to be alone.

"Ok," Minho says after a moment. "My bed’s a double anyway."

Chan’s expression lifts, eyes brightening, and he twitches forwards as though he wants to tackle Minho to the floor.  "Great! Shall we go to sleep?" If he had a tail, Minho thinks, it would be wagging.

"I’ve got to brush my teeth first," he points out. "And shower. So go curl up in bed, I’ll see you soon."

Chan nods, happily ambling from the bathroom to the bedroom. Minho hears a soft sound and then a muffled sigh as Chan apparently falls face first onto the bed. He stifles a laugh. Chan seems so intimidating sometimes out in the woods, in his element. But here… it’s nice. To see him this way.

Chan gets out of bed as soon as Minho comes back. Minho isn’t entirely sure why until he climbs in and Chan immediately presses behind him, leaving Minho safely enclosed between his body and the wall. Minho isn’t quite sure how to feel about it. He’s shared beds with friends before. At sleepovers, or on camping trips. But those friends were girls, and Minho has known since before he turned eleven that girls just weren’t that interesting to him.

Chan shifts, pushing his nose against the side of Minho’s neck momentarily, and Minho does his best not to hyperventilate. This isn’t Ellie, his best friend since the first day of school where everyone else had teased him for not looking the same. This isn’t whispering about boys and kicking each other, giggles muffled by pillows. This is Chan. Beautiful, intense,  _ inhuman _ Chan who could take down a mountain lion alone but can sit for hours listening to Brian Cox talk about stars. With his soft voice and movement like oil over water. Holding him. In his bed.

He hears Chan sigh softly, feels himself pulled closer against his chest. He wonders if Chan can feel how hard his heart is beating, or if he’s already asleep.

He waits to see if Chan speaks. The clock on the landing chimes midnight. Then one. Then two.

And finally, the rhythm of Chan’s breath on the back of Minho’s neck lulls him into sleep.

* * *

Minho is awoken again at four. He feels the bed shift beside him, Chan kicking and crying out softly. He sits up, shaking Chan’s shoulder until he wakes with a gasp.

"Minho?"

"Are you ok?" Minho says into the dark. "It sounded like you were having a nightmare."

"I- yeah," Chan says. His voice is shaking. "You were- I couldn’t-" he stops. Breathes heavily for a moment. "Can I- god, this is going to sound weird."

Minho waits. Chan sighs.

"I’d feel better," he says eventually, "if you smelled more like me."

"If I  _ what?" _

"I know, I know, it’s not a human thing, but- like when your cat rubs her face on your hand. Like that." An awkward silence fills the darkness. “You don’t have to say yes. I know it’s not exactly a human thing."

"But it’s a you thing?"

"Yeah," Chan mutters. "It’s a pack thing, I guess. We’d all do it."

Minho can hear the shadow of loneliness in his voice. "Sure," he says, keeping his tone as casual as he can. "If Kimchi gets to do it, why not you?"

"Really?" Chan says hopefully.

"Go for it," Minho responds. He doesn’t entirely know what he’s letting himself in for, but Chan had sounded so  _ sad _ . What had he dreamed of, Minho wonders, that would make him need so badly for Minho to smell like his pack?

He hears the duvet rustle as Chan shifts, pushing closer to him until he’s half over Minho’s lap. He thinks this would maybe feel less strange if they weren’t in the dark. He supposes Chan can see what he’s doing.

Chan’s breath brushes his neck, and he jolts.

"Sorry," Chan murmurs.

"It’s ok."

He feels Chan’s nose press against his neck, and goosebumps rise on his arms. Slowly, Chan runs his cheek over Minho’s skin, humming softly as he repeats the motion. Minho relaxes into it after a while, the sensation of Chan’s breath beneath his jaw growing more familiar. He’d still feel a little better about it, he decides, if it wasn’t taking place in his bed, Chan’s leg thrown over his own, hands settled softly on his waist.

_ Think about something else _ , he tells himself.  _ Anything except him kissing your neck. Anything except his hands on you. _

Chan sighs softly against his skin, and Minho shivers. "Thank you," he says quietly. "I know this must be strange."

"A little," Minho manages to say, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too strained. "What did you dream about?"

He feels Chan pull away, settling back onto his own half of the bed. "You were hurt," he says softly. "You were hurt and I couldn’t help you. I just- things might be less likely to hurt you. If you carry my scent. Predators tend to avoid us."

"I’m right here," Minho tells him. Reaches out for Chan’s hand, blind in the darkness. He feels Chan’s fingers link with his own.

"I’ll keep you safe," Chan promises. "As long as I can."

"I believe you," Minho says. "Let’s go back to sleep, ok? You’ll probably feel better in the morning."

"Yeah," Chan agrees quietly. "In the morning."

He holds Minho close until sleep pulls them both under.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A... less soft chapter than the last one. I'm sorry. I really am.

In the morning, Minho can’t move. He awakes pinned under Chan, the other man’s head resting on his chest, breath brushing his collarbones. Minho pushes him gently, and Chan somehow clings tighter. It’s not uncomfortable. Minho doesn’t find much about Chan uncomfortable. Even the scent marking wasn’t… unpleasant. It’s nice, in a foreign way, that Chan sees Minho as someone he trusts.

Someone he wants to protect.

And Minho trusts Chan. He must do. He’s sharing a bed with him. He’s trusted him from the start, if he’s honest. From the first day in the forest. A gun. Dark eyes.

Chan shifts, making a soft sound that makes Minho’s heart skip. Even before he’s said good morning, he presses the side of his face to Minho’s, sighing contentedly as Minho returns the pressure.

"Hi," he says in Minho’s ear. He doesn’t seem remotely embarrassed by the fact that he’s pinning Minho to the bed; different boundaries, Minho supposed. It doesn’t stop  _ him  _ being flustered.

"Hi," he replies, hating how breathless he sounds. He wonders if Chan’s noticed. He must have. Minho knows how keen his senses are. He must be able to feel Minho’s heart beating.   
Chan pulls back, meeting his eyes, and for a moment Minho is sure he knows; there’s something there, a hint of a spark in the darkness of those eyes. And the way he moves his head just a little; was he going to kiss Minho, then? Or is Minho simply reading him wrong, separated by a difference in body language Minho still doesn’t entirely understand?

"Food?" Chan asks, and Minho can’t help but laugh at him. There’s an ache in his chest despite it, but he ignores it. He’s not even Chan’s  _ species _ . It makes perfect sense that Chan wouldn’t really respond to him in that way.

_ But you respond to him _ , something whispers in the back of his mind.  _ He makes your heart beat too fast. You ache to be closer to him even when he’s right next to you. _ Minho shuts it out.

"Food," he agrees.

* * *

They spend the day engaged in companionable nonsense; watching more documentaries, Minho teaching Chan how to play board games, Chan doing his best to befriend Kimchi. Minho laughs as he lies on the floor, trying to make his posture as submissive as possible so the little cat won’t see him as a threat. Kimchi keeps hissing, no matter how wide and sad Chan’s eyes go.

It’s only after dark, once the two of them are settled close on the sofa, that the knock on the door sounds.

They both freeze, Chan more completely than Minho; predator and prey, Minho thinks. One waiting to fight, the other, to flee. Slowly, inch by inch, Chan creeps forward so that he stands between Minho and the door. They wait.

"Minho? Minho, I can see your light, please answer the door."

"It’s Mrs Young," Minho says softly. "I went to school with her son."

"Don’t answer it," Chan whispers. "Please. It's not safe."

"Minho?" Mrs Young calls. "Please, Minho, it’s about Aaron."

Minho shoots Chan a look. He retreats to the other room, and Minho smiles softly at him. 

When he opens the door, Mrs Young looks like she hasn’t slept. Her hair is loose, unlike her usual neat bun, falling around her face like a halo in the light of the streetlamps. Wide, shining eyes meet Minho’s.

"Minho. Have you seen Aaron? He’s missing, I can’t find him, I’m asking everyone but no one’s seen him, please tell me you’ve seen him-"

"I’m sorry," Minho says quietly. "I haven’t seen him."

Mrs Young stops. It’s like the life goes out of her, clockwork running out. Minho watches a little of the light leave her eyes. "Oh," she says. "Oh."

"Do you want me to help you look?" Minho asks, and he thinks he hears something hit the floor from the next room, as though Chan had dropped something in shock at the stupidity of his offer.

"No," Mrs Young mumbles vaguely, stepping away from the door, almost stumbling as she does so. "No, you should stay indoors, you should… thank you, but no. Thank you."

She leaves without another word.

Chan emerges from the kitchen as Minho shuts the door. "I broke a vase," he admits sheepishly.

"I heard it," Minho says. Chan ducks his head in apology.

"Would you have gone with her?" Chan asks as Minho clears up the pieces of broken ceramic. "If she’d said yes to your offer of help?"

"Would you have let me?"

"Yes," Chan says slowly. "But I would have followed. To keep you safe." He pauses. "I don’t… I don’t want to be a different kind of monster, to you, Minho," he whispers eventually. "I don’t want to be the kind of person who’ll suffocate you to keep you from harm."

"I don’t think you could be," Minho says, emptying the ceramic into the bin.

"I could," Chan whispers. "I can feel it. Before, when we’d meet in the forest. When you’d leave. I didn’t want to let you. I wanted to keep you with me to stop you getting hurt."

Minho doesn’t know what to say to that. Thinks of Chan, pulling him close in the dawn, breath against his neck. Perhaps he’s wrong, he thinks, about Chan not feeling the same way he does. Perhaps there is something there.

"But you did let me go," Minho replies eventually. "You won’t hurt me, Chan. You won’t be a monster."

Chan doesn’t reply.

"I’m going to bed," Minho says softly. "If you want to stay up a while, that’s fine."

Again, no reply. Minho heads upstairs in the silence, the glow of the light downstairs the only sign that Chan is there at all.

* * *

The body is found soon after the sun rises. Minho is not awoken by the distant screams, or by the light flooding the streets as his neighbours stir at the clamour. He is awoken by Chan; by a sudden pressure on his chest as Chan presses him down, covers Minho’s body with his own, a growl tearing through the dawn air.

"Chan? Chan, what’s wrong?"

Another scream sounds, and Chan lowers himself down further, chest pressed against Minho’s. "Chan- Chan, get  _ off _ , I need to see what’s going on-"

Chan visibly snaps at him with teeth too sharp to be human then, the sound of it interrupting the growl for a moment, and Minho panics. He pushes at Chan, kicks his legs and tries to force his way out from underneath him. It’s fruitless until Chan’s eyes widen in shock and he rolls away, retreating to the other side of the room with his hands held out in a gesture of peace.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I shouldn’t have done that, I just-"

Sirens. Chan twitches, and his eyes darken again for the briefest moment. Minho tenses, but he doesn’t move.

"I want to go and see what’s going on," Minho says slowly. Chan looks as though he might be sick. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

"Ok," Chan agrees. It looks like it pains him to say it, and after Minho’s thrown on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, Chan shifts to block him from the door apparently without thinking.

"Chan," Minho warns, and Chan steps to the side. He’s shaking, Minho notices. The weight of defying all instinct to let a member of his pack go out to face danger alone. But Chan knows he can’t come with him. Can’t be seen.

When Minho looks back, he sees Chan watching from the window. There’s a pain in his expression Minho can’t look at for too long. He turns away, and follows the sirens.

There’s a crowd of people near the edge of the woods. Minho can’t see much over their heads, just the flare of blue lights from the cops’ van. The switch in the colours makes him feel ill, sapphire and crimson sweeping over the scene, making everything echo. The sound of a woman screaming. The chatter of the crowd.

In front of him, someone shifts. And for a moment, Minho gets a clear view of the scene. Crime scene tape. Blood dried into the cracks in the asphalt. A body covered by a sheet. Human.

How could one body spill that much blood?

He can see Aaron’s mother on her knees. She’s the one screaming, Minho realises, the sound and the image snapping together like a scene from a film.

It must be Aaron under there.

Minho feels sick.

"I’m going home," he says to no one in particular. He doesn’t think anyone watches him leave, but the sensation of eyes follows him all the way to his door.

Chan is pacing the living room when Minho gets home. Before Minho has even managed to close the door fully, Chan pushes him back against it, face pressed to Minho’s neck. Minho waits while he settles, reassuring himself by letting his scent rest in Minho’s skin; letting anything out there know that Minho is spoken for. Protected.

"Aaron’s dead," Minho says against his hair. "I think- You know who killed him."

"I do," Chan agrees quietly. "I’m so sorry. I should never have brought her here."

"You couldn’t have known that she’d follow you," Minho reassures him. "You couldn’t have known."

Silence. The warmth of Chan’s skin against his own as he pushes his nose against the point where Minho’s shoulder meets his neck.

"I’m sorry," he says. "About this morning."

"Chan-"

"We talked about it last night. I’m sorry for letting it get to me again, I just need you to be  _ safe _ , Minho, I need you here, I-" he breaks off. Slowly, Minho rests a hand against his back.

"I understand," he whispers. "And you didn’t stop me, Chan. You realised what you were doing. You trusted me. That’s what counts."

A long pause. Chan’s voice, close to his ear but so soft he can barely hear it. "I don’t want to be a monster." Minho thinks he might be crying.

"You won’t be, Chan. Never. Not to me."

And he holds Chan close, and lets him cry.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to escalate...
> 
> Warnings for racism and violence in this chapter <3

"So," Chan says softly. "I’m going back tomorrow."

"You are." The two of them are curled on the sofa, watching Frozen Planet. It’s what they’ve been doing since Minho woke up (Chan admits that he woke before Minho, and spent a while simply trying again to befriend Kimchi). Chan twitches every time anything Minho assumes he deems as prey appears on screen. It’s endearing, in a strange way.

"Thank you for this," Chan says, and the intensity of the sincerity in his tone is hard to bear. Minho doesn’t really want him to go. He knows he’ll still see him, will sneak out to the woods to wander through the snow. But it isn’t safe out there. For him or Chan.

"It’s nothing."

"It’s not." He feels Chan shift beside him, turning so that he’s facing Minho with his legs wrapped loosely around Minho’s own. "It’s not nothing, Minho." Minho meets his eyes. He’s looking at him in that strange way again, an expression Minho knows well by now. He still can’t place it. Can’t figure out how it simultaneously feels like it’s taking him apart and sewing together every broken piece. But that’s just Chan, he supposes.

"You don’t know what this means," Chan continues softly. "To feel safe. To be with someone I care for. I haven’t had that in over a year, Minho, and I-" he stops. Takes a breath. "I’m not meant to live like that. I’ve been struggling to live like that. I know humans feel it too, when they’re alone, but it’s- it’s like I’ve been shrinking. Like every day I spent without a pack I mattered less." He reaches out. His hand settles on Minho’s hair. "And then you."

"I’m glad you’re happier," Minho replies. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Chan lets out a frustrated huff. "No, you- I’m not wording this right." He stops. "Albatrosses."

"Albatrosses?"

"They mate for life."

"Yes," Minho says slowly. "The guy on TV just told us that."

"I’m trying to say- I- God, this is hard." Chan sighs. "I don’t know if you feel the same. And I don’t want to ruin this if you don’t. But I… you’re more than pack to me, Minho. You’re... " he gestures at the screen. "Albatrosses."

Minho lets the words sink in, struggling to process them for a moment. "Oh," he says eventually. "Albatrosses."

"You make me feel like myself again, Minho. I understand if you don’t- we’re different, I know that, but you-"

Minho kisses him before he can finish his sentence. He panics as soon as he’s done it, wonders if he misinterpreted, but Chan holds him close when he tries to pull away.

"Yes," he whispers against Minho’s lips, and when he laughs softly, Minho thinks he can almost taste it.

Kissing Chan isn’t entirely what he expected (not that he hasn’t been doing his utmost  _ not _ to imagine kissing Chan). He’s gentler, more tentative than Minho had thought. It’s not a bad thing, he decides; there’s a time and place for being kissed breathless, for teeth and want and wandering hands, and it isn’t here and now. Now is for sweetness, for Minho smiling against Chan’s skin; for Chan pushing the boundaries of the moment by dragging his lips softly over Minho’s jaw before he pulls away to look at him with a fondness that’s almost hard to bear.

"I don’t want you to go," Minho says quietly.

Chan sighs against his neck, gently pushing his nose into the crook of Minho’s shoulder to leave his scent behind. "I don’t want to go either. But I doubt your parents would take kindly to you taking in a monster from the woods and letting him sleep in your bed."

"Probably not," Minho admits. "I’ll come and visit you. Out there."

"You shouldn’t."

"You can’t keep me away."

Chan leans back so that they’re face to face again. His eyes are so sad, Minho thinks. So very gentle, and so very sad. They cut right through him. Minho closes his eyes against it, and kisses Chan again.

"I know I can’t," Chan whispers against his lips, sliding his fingers into Minho’s hair. "I don’t want to."

Minho can’t think of a way to respond to that. Doesn’t know what to do with the ache of honesty in his tone. So he kisses him, softly, sweetly, and tries his best to commit the moment to memory.

* * *

The house is strange without Chan. He had left that morning, disappearing into the trees with a smile, and Minho’s heart aches from the lack of him. Even Kimchi seems to notice his absence, peering around corners as though she expects him to be hiding somewhere. Minho mopes a little until his parents come home. He greets them warmly, and his father laughs.

"Been lonely?" he asks.

"Yeah," Minho lies. "Kind of."

"Didn’t you get any groceries?" his mother calls. "This fridge is empty, Minho."

"I thought you’d stop at a supermarket on your way back," Minho admits sheepishly. His father fixes him with a look. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"At least go and get some milk," his mother orders. "The little corner store should still be open, and I think you’ve proven that you can survive on your own."

They don’t know about Aaron yet, Minho realises. He could tell them. Let them know just how much danger he’s in.

He’d lose the freedom to see Chan. To wander into the woods and talk in the snow and kiss under the shadows of the pines.

"Sure," he says. "I’ll be as quick as I can."

As he leaves, Minho is reminded that he doesn’t really like being out this close to curfew. Dusk has become midnight these days, the same aura of fragile peace he always associates with darkness brought into the fading blue of the evening. Not many people stay out once the light begins to fade.

He hears their laughter before he sees them. Hyenas, haunting empty roads.

They’re hovering on the corner in a group, cigarettes casting momentary flares over their features. He knows them. He’s known them since he was young, since they would pull their eyes into slits when they spoke to him. Since the teasing about his strangeness descended into violence, ignored by the school due to the bullies’ shining grades.  _ Such clever boys. I’m sure they were just teasing you, Minho. I know it can be hard to catch every joke when English isn’t your first language. _

"Lee!" One of them calls. Jayce. Minho doesn’t know if they ever bothered to learn his first name, choosing to make fun of his foreign surname instead. "Hey, Lee! Shouldn’t be out so late. The beast might take you next."

Minho ignores them. Keeps walking. The cigarettes flare in the corner of his eye, smoke rising in plumes.

"Maybe there isn’t a beast after all," Jayce says. He’s talking loudly, voice carrying across the street to Minho. He knows he’s meant to hear it. "Maybe Lee here just got bored of no one looking at him and decided to make a mess." He pushes off the wall. Saunters across the road. "That’s why you were always so  _ weird _ , wasn’t it, Lee? Just wanted someone to look at you."

He’s moved faster than Minho thought. They’re side by side for a moment before Jayce grabs his wrist and wrenches it up, pulling him off balance. Minho’s feet slip out from under him, and he scrabbles for purchase on the ice-slicked asphalt for a moment.

"We’re looking at you now, Lee," Jayce says softly. "What are you going to do about it? You got a knife hidden in that coat? Is that how you’re doing it?"

"I didn’t- I’m not-"

"He says he didn’t do it!" Jayce shouts across the street. The laughter rings in Minho’s ears. "Don’t bother lying to us. We've known you a long time, Lee." He grabs Minho by the hair, pulls him upright until they’re eye to eye. "We know there’s something wrong in that head of yours."

Minho can’t speak.

"What, nothing to say? Just say you did it, freak. Just say you killed Aaron. If you’re quick, you might get to the cops with no extra damage." He tugs Minho up again, and he cries out at the pain. "Doesn’t sound like a confession to me. Let’s try again, shall we?"

His hand tightens around Minho’s wrist.

Something comes out of the shadows. Tackles Jayce by the waist and tears him away from Minho.

Minho, from the ground, sees Chan get to his feet. He looks less human than he’s ever seen him; there’s something in the set of his shoulders, the faintest of growls Minho can hear coming from his throat. He thinks, in the dim light of broken streetlights, that he can see claws where Chan's fingernails should be.

The other boys scatter, cigarette glow leaving patches of melted ice on the pavement, and Chan makes to follow them for a moment. But he freezes. Turns back to Jayce, hyperventilating in the middle of the road.

He takes a step towards him, slow and steady over the ice.

And another.

Minho can still hear him growling.

Jayce doesn’t move.

"Don’t hurt him," Minho blurts out. "Don’t."

Chan turns his head slightly, keeping Jayce in his peripheral vision. His eyes are black. Not dark, as they have been before, but  _ black _ . Black as pitch and shadow and despair. Minho’s breath catches in his chest and he tries to shuffle backwards without thinking.

Chan turns back to Jayce. "You should go," he says slowly. Minho can hear control saturating every syllable, making the words steady as stone.

Jayce stares for a moment before he gets up and runs, legs shaking beneath him. Chan watches him go with the air of a cat waiting for a mouse to get far away enough for the chase to be funny again.

"Chan," Minho says, and he appears to snap back to himself. He kneels beside him, pulls him close. Minho tilts his head back a little to let Chan scent him, but Chan leans in and kisses him hard instead. He’s shaking, Minho realises. He can feel Chan’s entire body trembling.

"Hey," he manages to say. "I’m ok, Chan. I’m fine. You shouldn’t have let them see you."

"They would have hurt you," Chan whispers against his jaw. "You can’t honestly tell me they wouldn’t have harmed you."

"No," Minho admits. "I can’t."

Chan lets out a sound that might be a whimper. Minho wraps his arms around him. It’s all he can do. He doesn’t really think he can stand, is too shaken to attempt to reassure Chan further. He’s known those boys since he was six. Knows what they’re capable of. They would have broken bones, if Chan hadn’t arrived.

He doesn’t tell Chan that.

Once Chan’s breathing has slowed, he shifts, cradling Minho closer and lifting him from the ground.

"Chan-"

"I’m taking you home."

"You can’t- my  _ parents _ -"

"Fine. Nearby. But I’m not leaving you here, Minho."

"Ok," Minho concedes, resting his forehead on Chan’s shoulder. He’s too tired to argue, adrenaline wearing off more quickly than he’d thought it would.

Chan carries him through the streets like he’s something precious. He’s so gentle, Minho remembers. So very gentle, when he has to be.

He puts Minho down two streets away from home. Watches him walk from the shadows. Minho’s glad he’s there. There’s safety, sometimes, in being watched.

"Back already?" his mother calls when he opens the door.

Minho feels a little dizzy as he remembers that he was sent on a simple errand. "No milk," he replies weakly.

"Oh, well. Thanks for going out."

"Not a problem," Minho manages to respond.

He closes the front door. Shuts out the night, and Chan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end <3

When Minho heads out the next day on a second attempt to get milk, posters have flooded the town. He heads over to the nearest streetlight, bones growing cold as the face on the poster comes into focus. It’s a police sketch artist's drawing, so the features are a little off, but it’s unmistakable. Minho would know Chan’s face anywhere. The softness of his lips, the shape of his eyes.

_ Wanted _ , the poster says.  _ Murder suspect. _

Minho can’t breathe.

He ignores his errand, heading for the woods. He needs to find Chan. Needs to warn him.

It’s only once he’s among the trees that the sensation of being watched settles, ugly, on his skin.

"Chan!" he calls desperately. "Chan!"

No reply. A twig snaps nearby. It’s on purpose, he knows. To let him know he’s not alone. Not safe.

"Chan!"

A breath, beside his ear, carrying the smell of blood

_ "Chan!" _

And there he is. Arms around Minho as though he’d been there the whole time, pinning him to the snow. The sensation of eyes, unpicking his flesh from his bones, fades.

"What are you doing out here?" Chan hisses. "I told you, Minho, wait for me on the edge of the woods, never come in by yourself. She’ll hurt you if I’m not there, Minho, anything to make me suffer."

"You can’t come anywhere near town," Minho blurts out. "They- I think Jayce reported you after last night, they think you’re the one that killed Aaron, there are wanted posters everywhere, you can’t even come close to the edge of the forest."

Chan says nothing for a moment. Slowly, he sits up, still kneeling over Minho’s legs, and Minho rises to face him.

"Then we can’t see each other anymore," Chan says eventually. "I know- I know neither of us want that, but- until all this blows over, at least, we- I need to stay away from the town, and you need to stay away from the forest. To keep us both safe."

Minho feels his heart crack in his chest. He knows Chan is right, but it  _ hurts _ . The thought of not seeing him again. "To keep us both safe," he repeats. 

"I’ll take you as close to town as I can," Chan tells him. "And then you don’t come back. Not until she’s gone, or they stop looking for me, or-"

"Or what?"

Chan is silent for a moment. "Or you never come back, Minho. We stop this altogether."

"Do you want to?" Minho asks quietly.

Chan kisses him in response; it’s forceful, desperate, as though he’s trying to make Minho understand without words. "No," he whispers against Minho’s lips. "I want to take you away from here. Somewhere we’ll never be found. Keep you with me, always."

"But you can’t," Minho says softly. He has a family. A life. Chan can’t take that from him. Minho can’t give it up for him. Can’t let his parents grieve.

"No," Chan agrees. "I can’t."

"I’m going to miss you," Minho whispers. He doesn’t know how to express it. The ache he’s already feeling in his chest. Like someone has pulled out a piece of his heart, leaving splinters of his ribs floating in the wound.

"I love you," Chan tells him. "I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you."

"I love you, too."

Chan kisses him again, slow and careful this time, trailing his hands over Minho’s jaw, his neck, tangling his fingers in Minho’s hair as though to memorise every sensation of him. Minho doesn’t want it to end.

But it does.

Chan takes him back almost to the edge of the forest. They say goodbye.

Minho goes to the store and buys milk. Carries it home in silence.

In his room, he buries his face in his pillow and sobs.

* * *

Minho doesn’t really leave his room for a few days. His parents are worried, he can tell, but he doesn’t quite have the energy to reassure them.

His father comes and sits on his bed at some point, reads to him from a book he used to love as a child. It’s comforting, and Minho is grateful.

He closes the book once he’s done. Waits for a few moments.

Minho sighs. "There was a guy," he says eventually.

"He end things with you?"

"Kind of. It was mutual. But it still sucks."

"Yeah," his father agrees. "We’ve all been there." A moment of gentle silence settles between them, and Minho is grateful all over again for the people who raised him with so much kindness. "Your mother and I are making proper Korean food for once. Come down and eat later, ok?"

"I will," Minho promises. "Do you need anything from the corner store?"

"I think our garlic went weird. Go get a new bulb if you’re feeling up to it."

"Sure."

"Thanks."

It’s odd, to be out in daylight for the first time in days. The wanted posters are still up, and they make Minho’s chest hurt. He does his best not to look at them as he heads to the store.

"Hey, Lee! We gotta stop meeting like this."

Jayce. Again.

"Your friend not with you? I think I did a pretty good job of describing him to the cops, right?"

Minho keeps walking.

"Come on, Lee, not the silent treatment again! That’s overplayed. Come and talk to us."

_ Just get to the store _ , he tells himself.  _ Just get there, and you’re safe. _

"You’re ready, right?" he thinks he hears Jayce say. It’s not aimed at him.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

Jayce strikes Minho in the ribs, blunt and brutal, and he’s down before he can even register that it happened.

"We’ve got a plan, Lee," Jayce tells him. "We hurt you. Your freak shows up again."  He kicks Minho in the hip, hard enough to bruise but not break. "The cops are already on their way."

Minho hopes Chan won’t come. Hopes he’ll stay far, far away, where he’s safe.

Jayce’s foot rests on his knee. "What do you think? Can you whistle for him or something?" He puts pressure on Minho’s kneecap, grinding his foot down against the bone. "Come on. Bring him."

Minho hears sirens, echoing through the streets.

He grits his teeth, trying not to cry out in pain.

And then Chan is beside him.

"Get off him," he tells Jayce. "You don’t know how stupid you’re being." He sounds angry, Minho realises. Furious.

"Chan," he says faintly.

Chan crouches beside him. "Are you ok?"

"Chan, the cops are coming, you need to  _ go _ ."

"No."

"What?"

"She was on her way, Minho," Chan says softly as Minho hears cars round the corner, doors slamming and men shouting. "She was going to kill you, and them, and the cops they’d called. Just to hurt me. I need to end this."

"What- Chan-"

"If I go to prison, if she thinks I’m suffering... then this will stop."

"Chan. Chan, no, this is  _ America _ , they’ll put you on fucking death row, you-"

"I know what I’m doing. Stay down." Chan smiles softly at him, and Minho wishes he could stand, wishes he could chase after him as he leaves, as the cops point their guns at him and he holds up his hands.

As he’s driven away.

"There we go, Lee," Jayce says, smiling. "All sorted."

Spurred on by a fury that surprises him, Minho pulls his key from his pocket and stabs it, as hard as he can, into Jayce’s calf.

"He was  _ innocent _ , you piece of shit," he hisses as Jayce yells out in pain. He manages to get to his feet, stumble against a wall. God, his hip hurts.

But Chan is innocent, and Minho needs to prove it. And he thinks he knows how.

None of Jayce’s friends confront Minho as he staggers away. None of them question why, instead of heading home, he heads for the woods.

It starts to snow. Minho’s knee, and his ribs, and his hip cry out in pain.

He keeps walking.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update, a short chapter, and a very big cliffhanger... enjoy <3

An hour later, Minho doesn’t think he can keep this up. The snow has grown heavy, and his footsteps are filled in as soon as he makes them. But he needs to do this. He needs to be out here. Needs to find the member of Chan’s pack responsible for all of this.

"Hey!" he shouts. "I know you’re out there!"

There’s no response. The cold is seeping right into Minho’s bones now, numbing the ache from his fresh bruises. He isn’t dressed for this. But if he thinks about it, the point of this isn’t his survival anyway.

He has to prove Chan’s innocence. No matter what it takes.

Minho isn’t sure when his knees give out in the snow. He can’t find the strength to stand up again. He’s unreasonably calm about that, he thinks. And when footsteps sound in the snow behind him, his heart slows even further. This is it.

"Too cold out here for you." Minho doesn’t turn, but the woman circles around until she’s in Minho’s field of view, crouching before him. She moves the same way Chan does, elegance in every line of her. Her eyes are just as dark, and just as sad. So much sorrow. So much pain.

"I’ve been watching you. The apple of Chan’s eye." She places a hand against Minho’s cheek. It’s warm enough that Minho almost leans into it. "You are lovely, aren’t you? I can see why he couldn’t leave you alone."

Minho says nothing.

"You know I have to kill you, sweetheart," she says. The words are gentle, almost tender. There’s no regret there, but Minho isn’t afraid. He nods.  "Do you know why? I don’t know how much Chan told you."

"He refused to kill a hunter. A member of the pack died at their hand," Minho manages to say. He’s so cold. The words freeze on his tongue.

"That’s true," the woman says. "But it wasn’t just anyone who died, sweetheart. She was  _ mine _ . I loved her. Do you understand that? I think you do." She pulls Minho close, cradling him in her arms. It’s almost an embrace. "I’ve seen the way you look at Chan. You adore him, don’t you? He loves you, too. It’s why I have to do this. He’ll escape from the humans soon enough. And when he does…" Her grip tightens, and Minho finds he can’t quite breathe. "I want him to be the first to find you."

She lowers her head, resting it against Minho’s shoulder as she holds him. "I’m sorry, sweetheart. I am. This is going to hurt. But you know that, don’t you?"

Minho can’t reply. His head is too fogged by the cold to find the words.

A hand finds his.

"Are you ready, sweetheart? Squeeze my hand if you are."

Chan won’t escape. Minho knows that. Knows that Chan thinks he can solve this conflict if this woman thinks justice has been done, thinks that Chan is suffering.

Minho knows that isn’t right. He knows that this was always the only way she would let this end.

And this way, Chan will be safe. It’ll take a few days to sort out the case. In that time, Minho will be found, his murderer long gone, having found peace in her vengeance. Chan will have been contained the whole time. The perfect alibi. He’ll be freed.

He’ll be safe.

Minho squeezes her hand.

"Ok, sweetheart. Well done for being so brave."

For a moment, the sensation of warmth flooding out over Minho’s skin negates the pain. But only for a moment. He tries to scream, the sound muffled in his killer’s shoulder.

"I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m sorry. The cold will make it faster. Just let yourself fall asleep. I’ll stay until you go. You won’t be alone. Not like her. I’ll spare you that. This isn’t your fight, after all."

And Minho is so very cold.

The pain doesn’t last as long as he thought it would.

He watches the sky as long as he can keep his eyes open. White snow from white clouds. Like pieces of the sky are falling.

The snow around him is no longer white.

He falls asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who's read this story, especially those of you who left kudos or comments; it really brightens up my day to hear from you guys!
> 
> I'll hopefully be back soon with some HyunSung once I've figured out what to do with some of the works on this account...
> 
> Love, Nettle <3

It’s the persistent beep of the monitor that wakes him. It filters out of a dream he can’t quite remember, and slowly, his mother’s voice comes into focus.

"Minho? Oh, he’s waking up, honey, come see."

He tries to open his eyes.

"Let’s get a doctor. They need to check he’s ok, right? That’s what they do in movies, they get a doctor."

"Ok, I’ll get a doctor." His father. Where is he? What happened to the snow and the cold and the empty sky? The red, leaching into white like wine?

Minho opens his eyes.

"Oh! Hello, you! I’m so glad you’re awake, sweetheart,  _ oh _ ." He watches his mother burst into tears.

Moments later, a doctor follows his father into the room. He talks for a while, asking how Minho feels, shining a light in his eyes. "You were injured pretty badly," he says. "You owe those young men a lot."

"Who?"

"It was a group of young men who saved you," his mother explains. "They called the mountain rescue out, did first aid. They saved your life."

"What about the other guy?" Minho asks. "They’d arrested the wrong man, is he-"

"He’s out," his father says calmly. "And he spends most of his time in the waiting room. People find him quite unsettling."

"Yeah," Minho says vaguely. "He can be." Chan is free. Chan is free and waiting for him.

His father sighs. "When you said there was a guy, Minho…"

"He’s not dangerous. I promise."

His father looks at him steadily. "If you’re sure." His eyes flick to the doctor. "We’ll talk about him later."

"Is he allowed in?" Minho asks. His heart is soaring. Chan is free. He’s innocent. He’s  _ here _ .

"You’re going to have to wait a few days for any visitors who aren’t family," the doctor explains. "You need to recover, Mr Lee."

"Ok," Minho agrees quietly. The doctor smiles reassuringly at him, and leaves.

Minho’s father’s expression turns severe. "We need to talk. About Chan."

Minho’s heart sinks. "I’m sorry I kept it from you, I am, I just-"

"What is he?" Minho’s mother asks softly.

"I- What?"

"We’re not stupid, Minho," his father says slowly. "We’ve been around long enough to know what a human being looks like. Chan is not human. The boys who brought you down from the mountains were not human."

Chan’s pack, Minho realises. It could only have been Chan’s pack who saved him.

"Minho?" his mother prompts. She looks just as serious as his father, and he’s struck by a sudden realisation of just how much he loves them both.

"You’re right," Minho says eventually. "They’re not human. People know them as Lupines." Slowly, piece by piece, he explains everything Chan told him. His parents listen, asking questions now and then. His mother raises her eyebrows when he tells them he let Chan stay in their house. He omits the fact that they shared his bed.

"You’re sure he’s safe?" His mother asks when he finally falls silent. "He got you into all this trouble. He almost got you killed, Minho."

"No," Minho objects slowly. "I almost got  _ myself _ killed."

"For him," his father points out.

"Do you- what happened to her?" he asks. "The woman who…"

"Those young men who saved you seemed adamant that she’d been taken care of," Minho’s mother explains.

"I suppose," his father continues, "that in the context we’ve now been given, that means she’s dead."

"Probably," Minho admits.

His mother sighs. "Sweetheart…" Minho flinches, and she looks a little taken aback. She hadn’t been there. Hadn’t heard that word drip with pain and sorrow and venom too old to really sting. "Are you sure it’s a good idea? With Chan? He seems kind, but… like your father said. He unsettles people."

"You just have to get used to him," Minho promises. "He’s a good person. He’s done nothing but try to protect me this whole time."

"You know we’d never stop you from doing something like this," his father says. "You know we won’t ground you, or stop you from seeing him, or anything like that. But if you two stay together, we’ll be keeping an eye, ok? The first sign of you getting hurt again and we’ll have another talk just like this one."

"I understand," Minho agrees. "But Chan won’t hurt me. Ever."

His mother sighs. "So long as you’re sure. Get some rest now, sweetheart." Another flinch. He controls it better this time. "I suppose he’ll be allowed in to see you in a few days."

"Thank you," Minho says. "For understanding."

"Not much else we can do," his father points out. "We’ll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Minho agrees, and his parents filter out the door.

He falls asleep as gently as snow settling on the forest floor.

* * *

When he wakes again, he can hear voices outside.

"Please- I just want to see him-"

"Wait until he’s awake, Mr Bang. He’s still fragile."

"I know, I’m not going to  _ shake _ him, I just need to see him,  _ please _ , it’s been days-"

"Chan?" Minho murmurs. That’s Chan’s voice.

Chan falls silent outside for a moment. "He’s awake."

"I’m sorry?"

"He’s awake, I just heard him speak. Please let me in."

"I’ll- I’ll check on him."

A very flustered looking doctor walks into the room. Through the gap in the door, Minho catches sight of Chan, peering in hopefully. He looks as though he hasn’t slept.

"Mr Lee! You’re awake."

"Yeah," Minho confirms. "I feel fine, so can you- can he come in?"

The doctor seems unsure of what to say. "Uh… sure. One moment."

He leaves again, barely managing to get a word out before Chan enters the room. Up close, he looks even worse. " Minho," he says a little breathlessly. "You’re ok."

"Yeah," Minho says quietly.

Chan seems to relax a little at the sound of his voice, but he’s still visibly shaking. "How could you- Minho. Why would you do that, Minho? Why? I was fine, I had the situation under control-"   


"They would have sentenced you to death, Chan."

"I knew that!" Chan almost shouts. He closes his eyes. Exhales. "I knew that," he repeats. "I was ready for that, Minho, to protect you, and then you went and-" he breaks off, and Minho realises that he’s crying. "You were going to die for me," Chan says, more at the wall than at Minho. "You were going to  _ die _ for  _ me _ ."

"I had to make sure they knew you were innocent, Chan, I had to."

"You  _ idiot _ . Do you know how much I love you? You complete and utter  _ fool _ , I don’t have the words for stupid that was. I’m supposed to take care of  _ you _ . Not the other way round, Minho. And what if it didn’t work? Had you thought about that? Had you thought that we might both end up dead for no reason? Or what if they hadn’t been able to find me guilty? What if I’d come out of detainment and found out that you bled out in the snow? Did you think a single part of this through?"

Behind him, Minho’s parents slip quietly into the room. Chan seems too distraught to notice the way Minho’s eyes flit to them occasionally as they watch.

"I can’t believe you did this, Minho, I... I just can’t. You almost died. The pack told me that you'd lost so much blood, and you were so  _ cold _ and then the doctors wouldn’t let me see you for days and I-" he stops for a moment. "I need you to understand how idiotic it was to do something like that for me. For  _ me _ . And I need you to promise never,  _ ever _ to put yourself in danger for me again. I can’t lose you, Minho. I’m not worth your life. Nothing is worth that."

Behind him, Minho’s father coughs quietly, and Chan jumps almost out of his skin turning to see them. His father smiles. "I’m glad we’re on the same page there," he says delicately. "I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced."

Chan blinks at him. "Bang Chan," he says blankly.

Minho’s father smiles. "You can call me Mr Lee," he says, holding out his hand.

"Good to meet you, sir," Chan manages to say, shaking his hand. Minho holds back a laugh. It’s almost sweet to see Chan so utterly lost.

"I understand we’re likely to be seeing a lot more of you," Minho’s father continues.

Chan’s eyes widen. "I- Yes, I mean- If you’ll-" he turns to Minho. "If he-"

"He does," Minho confirms, laughing. "I’m not letting you run off into the hills, Chan."

Chan breaks out into a smile. "I’ll have to ask you to come into the hills with me one last time, if that’s ok," he says tentatively. "They want to meet you properly. The others."

"You can say pack, Chan," Minho tells him. "My parents know. They sort of knew as soon as they met you, I just filled in the details."

"Oh," Chan says. "Then… my pack would like to meet you."

"I’d like to meet them, too," Minho replies quietly, and Chan’s smile grows even wider.

* * *

The forest is just as Minho remembers it. The blue-green shadows of the pines. The sunlight barely reaching the forest floor. Chan, by his side.

"They said they’d meet us on the ridge," Chan tells him. "But if it’s too far for you, I can get them to come down here."

Minho shakes his head. "I’m all healed up, Chan. My parents wouldn’t have let me out if they thought I was going to start bleeding again."

"Ok," Chan says softly. "If you’re sure." He hadn't reacted particularly well to the sight of the scar when Minho had shown it to him- a streak of puckered red, curving down from his sternum to just above his right hip- and he still treats him with a care that Minho thinks is a little excessive. But it seems to make Chan calmer if he thinks that Minho is being careful, so he doesn't mind too much. He knows it'll pass.

They reach the ridge in another ten minutes. Minho can see shadows atop it, upwards of fifteen of them. Six stand forwards of the others.

"They’re my friends," Chan explains. "Those six at the front. My best friends."

"The ones who saved me?"

"The ones who saved you."

Minho watches as the pack flow down the ridge towards them. It’s intimidating, to say the least; a small army of men and women all moving like Chan, elegant and smooth and otherworldly. Minho tries to steady his breathing.

"It’s ok," Chan says quietly. He takes Minho’s hand.

"So this is the guy, huh?" The first man calls. He’s small and stocky, smiling broadly at Minho. "Good to see you on your feet."

"Good to be here," Minho replies, hoping that his voice doesn't shake too much. He’s almost interrupted by a taller man, more of a boy, wandering close to sniff his neck.

"Stop it, Jeongin," another man calls. He's tall, too, carrying a smaller, freckled man on his back. He watches Jeongin fondly, eyes disappearing in a smile. "That’s not a thing humans do."

Jeongin shrugs. "Chan obviously has," he points out.

Chan flushes pink. "I like him smelling of me," he mumbles, and a ripple of laughter, along with a few catcalls, passes through the pack.

They spend around an hour with the whole pack, Chan’s friends staying longer after the others wander off. Minho likes them. They’re loud, and they argue like brothers, and they refer to him more than once as Chan’s mate. Chan freezes the first time it happens, glancing at Minho. Minho just squeezes his hand.

"We won’t stay too far away," one of Chan’s friends promises, settling his nose into Chan’s neck for a moment as goodbyes begin. "We’ll be within reach."

"Thank you," Chan says softly. "It means a lot, Jisung."

"We missed you," Jisung tells him. "When you left without saying goodbye, we thought hunters might have got you."

"No, I just…"

"You’re just a self-sacrificing idiot," the one Minho thinks is Seungmin calls out. The others, including Minho, laugh a little at that. Minho less than the others. He’d seen Chan sacrifice himself first hand. Chan smiles at him, real and warm and alive, and he feels a little better.

"I’m sorry," Chan says to him once they’re alone. "About them. About the whole… mate… thing." He seems genuinely embarrassed, avoiding Minho’s eyes. "I know it’s probably a little weird to you."

"A little," Minho admits. "But only in the way the whole scent thing was weird." He takes Chan’s hand. "It’s just a you thing. I don’t mind it."

Chan slows to a stop, pulling Minho close gently. "Do you mean that?" he asks softly.

"I do," Minho replies. "If it means something to you to call me that, Chan, then…"

"My mate," Chan murmurs. It still seems to embarrass him a little, but there’s joy in it. Minho leans in to kiss him slowly. He never thought he’d have this again. Thought he’d die there in the snow beneath these very trees.

But he’s here, in Chan’s arms, hearing him sigh softly as they part, feeling the warmth of his breath on his neck as he scents Minho’s skin.

"I love you," he says quietly. Hears Chan sigh happily.

"I love you, too," he murmurs.

Snow starts to fall, settling in their hair and against their skin. It’s cold, but Minho doesn’t mind. He knows, after all of this, that he can go somewhere warm. Take Chan with him, now that his parents seem to have grown accustomed to the idea that he’s a part of their lives. They’ll be safe. They’ll be together.

For many snowfalls to come.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more of my work, and some of the thought processes behind it, come and say hi on my shiny new (very green) tumblr! You can find me under nettlestingsoup just like you can here, and I'll be posting about stray kids, writing, and maybe the odd snippet of unpublished AUs or hints as to what I'll be posting next. I hope to see you there! <3


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